Vengeance of a Songbird
by Flybie
Summary: What if Songbird didn't listen to Elizabeth when she tried to stop it attacking Booker on the tower? Rated T for language and violence.
1. Red Eyes

'No!'  
Songbird's massive claws tear through the air but an inch from my face, and I hear Elizabeth scream.  
'No! Please don't hurt him!'  
The bird's enormous head twitches to the side, its claws pausing millimetres from my throat. It seems to be listening.  
'I'm sorry!' Elizabeth pleads, and I see her stumble to the bird's head, stroking the rusted metal with a pale hand. 'I'm sorry... I should never have left...' She raises her hand to Songbird's great yellow eye, touching the glass with a finger. 'Take me back,' she says steadily. 'Take me back to my tower. Take me - take me home.'  
A moment's silence follows her words, and the bird's eye rolls back to face me. I open my mouth and croak, 'Elizabeth. Run...'  
And then -  
The yellow eye suddenly glows red. The metal talons come slicing down through the air and I feel a terrible, unbearable pain explode in my chest and throat as the claws rip straight through the flesh. I hear shouting, and it takes me a few moments to realise that it's me.  
'No!'  
I open my eyes ever so slightly, feeling blood soaking through my shirt and pooling on the floor beneath me. The pain is so bad I can barely stop myself passing out.  
'No, no, no -'  
Staggering footsteps echo in the empty room, and I see Elizabeth running towards me, her eyes wide and terrified, her face horrorstruck.  
'Booker! Oh, Booker!'  
I stretch out a shaking hand to her, trying to stifle a groan of agony -  
- and the Songbird snatches her up in a bloodied hand and smashes through the wall.  
'Elizabeth!' I cry, and fear snatches at my heart to hear how weak my voice sounds.  
'Booker!' she screams, reaching out desperately to grab my hand - but the Songbird dives out through the hole it made and swoops away through the night, Elizabeth's screams ringing in the darkness.  
I haul myself to my feet, clutching at my chest, and stagger to the hole the Songbird disappeared through. 'Elizabeth!' I roar, feeling blood gushing through my fingers.  
'Elizabeth...'  
But the pain is so bad now I can't even keep my feet. With a rush of self-disgust, I slump to my knees, my head drooping.  
'El-iza-beth,' I croak -  
- and blackness engulfs me entirely.


	2. A Bullet for the Innocent

'Mr DeWitt! Mr DeWitt!'  
My eyelids flutter open. My face is pressed into a dirty grey carpet; the smell of dust is heavy in my nostrils.  
'I know you're in there, DeWitt!'  
I haul myself to my feet, watching the room swim sickeningly.  
'Bring us the girl, and wipe away the debt!'  
I seize the door-handle and pull hard. It swings open soundlessly, and I take a step into -  
'Booker!'  
I jerk awake. I'm lying on my back, staring hazily up at a filthy ceiling that climbs into shadow above me.  
'No, no, Booker, please -'  
A voice.  
A female voice.  
Elizabeth?  
I try to sit up, to see where the voice is coming from -  
- and my chest bursts open with pain. I collapse back onto the stone floor, gasping, feeling blood pooling around me.  
'Booker!'  
I turn my head slightly; see the bars surrounding me. A cell.  
Elizabeth is clutching the bars to my left, a jagged scratch running from her temple to her jaw, her face terrified.  
'You're hurt,' I croak.  
She wipes her sleeve across the cut. It comes away red.  
'You should get that looked at,' I gasp. 'Don't want to let it get infected.'  
Her face crumples. 'Your chest...'  
I look down. My shirt and waistcoat are ripped beyond repair, and I can just see four gashes, perhaps two inches deep, running down from my shoulder to my waist. There's blood everywhere.  
'Goddam,' I say quietly. 'That ain't a pretty sight.'  
It's then I realise that there are shackles around my wrists and ankles.  
'Elizabeth - where are we?'  
'Comstock House,' she says. 'Songbird took me here, and after a while a Handyman appeared with you. Oh, Booker,' - she reaches a hand through the bars - 'I was so scared... There was blood everywhere, and you're so pale...'  
I stretch out my own hand, trying to ignore the searing pain that jars my chest, and take hers; it seems so small and innocent compared with my bloodstained, scratched and burned hand.  
The sound of a door slamming echoes through the room, and Elizabeth backs away from the bars, fear etched all over her face.  
Six guards march into the room, machine guns resting on their shoulders, thick armour plating covering their bodies. I squint painfully at them, watching as they halt in front of my cell.  
'So,' says one. 'You're the False Shepherd, are you?'  
'I left my crook at home,' I say. 'I gather I'm easy enough to recognise without it.'  
The guard sneers, narrowing his eyes. Then he turns to the man beside him. 'Knock him out.'  
The second guard unlocks the door and steps inside, hefting a heavy wooden mallet in his hands. I feel a stab of unease.  
The man raises the mallet high above him, his face lit with a manic grin, and brings it down hard. An explosion of pain erupts in my head, and I see bright lights popping before my eyes. Elizabeth is screaming, the sound ringing painfully in my head -  
'Shut her up!' yells the first man's voice.  
'Get your hands off of me!' Elizabeth cries. Then she screams - one, long, agonised sound - before it cuts off entirely.  
'Elizabeth!' I roar, and the blackness that was slipping across my vision fades away as I throw myself at one of the guards. Devoid of any weapons, I draw my fist back and sink it, as hard as I can, into the man's gut. He doubles over, gasping in pain, and I drive a kick to the back of his head that sends him crashing to the ground.  
I turn, intending to go for the man who clubbed me - when the loud bang! of a gun firing slams into my eardrums, and agony stabs my side.  
I look down, my heart hammering.  
Blood - fresh, not the dried red blood from Songbird's attack - is slowly blossoming on what remains of my shirt.  
I give a grunt, and drop to one knee. Now that the adrenaline is wearing off, the pain of the bullet wound is sharpening, and I can feel the blood pulsing sluggishly out of my body with every beat of my heart.  
'They may call you 'the False Shepherd',' comes the voice of the first guard, 'but you're a fool. You hear that? A fool and a coward.'  
I shut my eyes tight, clamping my hand over the bullet-hole to try and quell the flow of blood.  
'Take him.'  
Something seizes my upper arm in a tight grip. I struggle for a few seconds, my breath coming in painful gasps, before my head droops forward and I fall still.  
Coward, a voice hisses in my head. You didn't even try to save Elizabeth.  
'Where's - Elizabeth?' I choke out.  
The first guard laughs. The sound reverberates eerily around the dark room.  
'The girl? Don't worry about her, DeWitt. If I was you, I would be worrying a little more about myself.'  
'What - have you done - with her?' I gasp. 'Where is she?'  
The man laughs again. 'If you're going to be complaining the whole way, DeWitt...'  
'Where is she?' I cry, but my voice is weak. 'What have you done with her?'  
- and something slams into the back of my head.  
The last thing I see before the blackness takes over is the first guard, his head thrown back, his teeth bared as he laughs.


	3. Iron and Steel

**Hi, readers, sorry I haven't been able to say hello to you before this but I couldn't work out how, so there you go. I just thought I'd do a BioShock Infinite fanfic because I just finished the game, and I really enjoyed it. This is my first fic, so please be nice, but any comments/reviews are most welcome!**

'Anna -'  
My face is pressed again into the grey carpet. The back of my head is throbbing horribly, and I can feel wetness soaking through my shirt.  
'Anna? Is that you?'  
Someone is crying; a soft, plaintive whimper that is muffled by the heavy wooden door that stands between us.  
I drag myself up, narrowing my eyes against the pain. The whimper is becoming a sob; the sound makes my head ache horribly.  
'I'm coming, Anna -'  
I stagger to the door and push it open with my shoulder.  
A battered cot, the white paint peeling, is placed in the centre of the room. The sound of crying is much louder now, and I clasp my hands to my head, feeling the sound stabbing at my brain again and again and again -  
I lean over the cot, and the crying ceases abruptly.  
'A-Anna?'  
I reach down into the cot. I have to hold her; feel her soft weight in my arms again.  
My finger is an inch from her face, getting closer and closer and -  
My eyes snap open.  
A bright room; white lights glaring down at me. Five men in white masks and coats grouped around my -  
- bed?  
I try to sit up, but something pulls at my wrists. I look down to see thin, iron bands wrapped around them; the flesh beneath is red and bloody.  
'Shit,' I mutter, trying to wrench my arms out from the bands, but they hold tight.  
I turn my head sideways a little, and my heart stops.  
Elizabeth is strapped to a bed beside me, her dark hair matted and filthy, blood streaking her white face.  
'Elizabeth,' I whisper, pulling again at the bands around my wrists. 'Elizabeth, wake up.'  
She doesn't move; doesn't open her eyes.  
'Elizabeth,' I say more urgently. 'Elizabeth, you gotta wake up!'  
'She will awake,' says one of the men tonelessly, and I start.  
'What d'you mean?' I snap. 'Let her go!'  
'She will awake,' he repeats, and I feel a surge of anger.  
'Just let her go, you goddam son of a bitch!' I yell, and the pain in my chest and side, briefly mollified by drowsiness, flares worse than ever.  
'Please control your behaviour, or we may have to subdue you,' says a second man, his voice just as devoid of emotion as the first.  
'Go to Hell,' I snarl, and heave at the bands. Blood trickles out from beneath them as I rub the skin raw, but I keep tugging; keep pulling. Don't stop. Don't stop.  
- and then pain stabs my neck: pain so bad I can't move; can't think; can't feel.  
Who am I?  
Why am I here?  
Just make it stop, just make it goddam stop -  
And it stops.  
I lie, panting, my heart drumming against my ribs. What the Hell was that?  
'Electrical energy,' says one of the men, as though he has read my thoughts. 'The plug in the patient's neck sends bolts of electricity shooting through said patient's body, causing extreme pain and, in some cases, a seizure. Please control your behaviour, Mr DeWitt, or this incident may reoccur.'  
I stare at them, still panting, feeling anger boiling in my throat - but I force it back down. I sure as Hell don't want that to happen again.  
'Have no fear, Mr DeWitt,' says the man, and his eyes lock with mine. 'If you abide by our rules, you may get out alive.'


	4. Awake, My Lamb

'Your name?'  
I glare at the masked man standing at the foot of the bed, and snap, 'Booker bloody DeWitt.'  
'And the girl's?'  
'I don't know.'  
He watches me carefully. 'Her first name. You know that, at least.'  
I hesitate, and the man's hand strays casually to the button that connects to the electrical charge. My stomach lurches.  
'Elizabeth,' I blurt out, and the bullet wound in my side gives a painful throb.  
The man nods and scribbles something on the clipboard balanced on his arm.  
'Why do you want to know?' I say uneasily, twisting my hands in the cuffs that bind my wrists, making them sting and bleed.  
The man looks up at me, his grey eyes locking with mine over the white mask, and says nothing.  
I lay my head back on the steel bed and close my eyes. I suddenly feel terribly, terribly tired, and my wounds seem to deepen still further as the scratching of the man's pencil continues.  
'Shit,' I murmur, and glance over at Elizabeth. Her eyes are still closed, but she seems...peaceful; untroubled. What I wouldn't give to feel that way myself.  
'Father Comstock will see you now, Mr DeWitt,' says the man's voice, and I look up, startled - but he has already left the room, leaving me and Elizabeth alone.  
As soon as the tail of his white coat has whipped out of sight, I begin to wrench again at my bindings. The pain is intense; there must be something on the metal that burns the skin. Trying not to think about it, I curl my fingers into a claw and attempt to summon fire to melt the metal away - but nothing happens. Frowning, I try again, twisting my hand into a painful position so it faces the metal - but still, no fire erupts from my fingers; no flames lick my wrists.  
'Shit, shit, shit,' I hiss. Then - 'Elizabeth! Wake up!'  
A momentary frown creases her smooth brow, before it disappears as she slips back into unconsciousness.  
I feel panic tear at my insides. What if she can't wake up?  
'Elizabeth,' I whisper desperately, 'Elizabeth, wake up, goddammit!' In my frustration, my metal-bound wrist bangs against the steel table, and a resounding clang echoes around the room.  
She starts, and her eyes fly open. 'Booker!'  
'Here,' I say, letting the relief wash over me. 'Are you alright?'  
'Where...?' She attempts to sit up, but the cuffs yank her back to a lying down position. I watch as confusion and then alarm crosses her face. 'What -'  
'Are you alright?' I say urgently.  
'Yes, I'm fine... What - why -'  
'We're in...some sort of...of questioning room, I think. There was this - this man, and he was asking me my name, and yours, and -'  
'Booker!' she gasps suddenly, looking horrified. 'Your - your neck -'  
'What?' I say, confused.  
'There's a - a wire -'  
Dread floods through me, and I turn my head a little, feeling something jab uncomfortably into my neck. 'What is it?' I ask uneasily.  
'It's like a - like a wire, I think, and it's leading down and into some sort of machine... But - oh, God,' - her voice hitches - 'is there - is there one in mine?'  
I lean forwards a little to see her better, and, sure enough, a long, silver wire leads from a machine similar to the one beside my bed to her slender, pale neck. Blood is spattered around it, as though the ones who stabbed it in didn't seem to fussy about making it neat, and a large, purple bruise is swelling around the incision.  
I nod curtly, and she turns away, straining against her bonds. 'I'm not staying here. I won't let them manipulate me.'  
'I wouldn't do that if I were you,' I say warningly as she struggles with the metal bands. 'Look at mine.'  
She turns, and a mixture of horror and sympathy spreads over her face. 'Oh, Booker -'  
'It's alright,' I say quickly. 'Just - just don't struggle, or they burn your wrists. But before we worry about anything else, we gotta find a way out of -'  
'That's right, my lamb,' says a voice from the doorway. 'Listen to the False Shepherd. Hear his lies.'  
My head whips around - and dread settles in my chest like an icy fog.  
Zachary Hale Comstock is standing in the doorway.


End file.
